IT’S HARDLY A MANDATE—

I am quite tired of hearing the national media slobbering such phrases as “...a mandate” when fawning over Sen. Barack Obama’s recent victory in the US presidential election.

Years ago, when I was director of elections in Richland County, it was a truism that elections were commonly won or lost by margins of 5 percent of the total votes cast.

I suspect that remains true to this day.

In this case Obama prevailed by a margin of just 6.5 percent.

Forty six point one percent of the voters preferred his opponent.

While Obama garnered some 65,400,000 votes nation-wide, 57,400,000 people voted against him.

Yes, it was an historic election and Sen. Obama clearly won.

The nation should be hopeful for an improvement in the quality of life for all Americans.

It should be hopeful we regain our status as a trusted member of the world’s community of nations.

I hope the president-elect does not confuse his inauguration with a coronation, and he proceeds with measured caution knowing nearly half of the voters were against him.

On a frosty fall morning sunlight sparkles through a small American flag paying its silent tribute to a veteran lying at rest in the Bellville Cemetery. Of nearly 6,000 graves in this cemetery some 600 are for veterans, including the grave surrounded by the wrought iron fence in the upper left background; that of a Revolutionary War veteran who fought for his country before his town came into existence.

WAR--

War is firmly implanted in the fabric of our nation’s history.

The Revolutionary War gave birth to our country. That began in 1775 with skirmishes between the Minutemen and the British, and, ended with Cornwallis surrendering in Yorktown in 1781.

That war was rejoined with the British in 1812 with our young nation’s fight for freedom on the high seas. It ended in 1815 after a young US Navy Commodore named Perry beat the British in the battle of Lake Erie near Put-In-Bay and the Treaty of Ghent was later signed.

Few remember the Mexican-American War of 1846-1848 which led to the annexation of California and New Mexico.

Just 13 years later we were engaged in a war with ourselves, The Civil War, which began with the Confederates firing on Fort Sumter in 1861 and ended with Lee’s surrender at Appomattox in 1865.

Meanwhile, wrapped around those violent epics were the near-continuous Indian Wars whose dates history has assigned as being from 1775 to 1890. Remember such Chieftain names as Pontiac and Tecumseh, or a white guy named Custer and a place called Little Big Horn?

In 1898 we were engaged in War with Spain which began with the sinking of the US battleship Maine in Havana harbor. It ended with the Treaty of Paris, ratified in 1899 and brought Guam and Puerto Rico under US influence where they remain to this day.

By 1917 we were drawn into World War I which actually began in Europe in 1914. Those hostilities ceased November 11, 1918. That one was known as the War to End all Wars. Ha.

Once again, a mere 23 years passed after the “War to End all Wars” until we were engaged in World War II; commencing with the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor in December 1941 and ending with their surrender in August 1945.

This dismal parade continued with:

--The Korean War, 1950-1953.
--The Vietnam War; Golf of Tonkin Resolution 1964 to fall of the US Embassy in Saigon, 1975.
--The Persian Gulf War #1, August 1990-April 1991.
--The War on Terrorism; from the September 11, 2001 attacks to present.
--The Persian Gulf War #2, March 2003 to present.

Any historical compilation is subjective.

We could have mentioned the Barbary Wars of the early 1800s, or skirmishes with Granada, Panama and Haiti, or, how about The Cold War with a beginning often traced to the Berlin Blockade of 1948 to the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1989—a period during which nuclear Armageddon was never far from our minds.

How about Bosnia in the recent past. Some will claim that was not a war, but, don’t debate that with families who lost loved ones there.

Today, the majority of the population of our country is under the age of 25. Those folks have relatively little life’s experience to call on, and with the deplorable teaching of history in today’s classrooms, very little historical knowledge either.

There is an old saying that folks who do not learn the lessons of history are bound to repeat its mistakes.

With my apologies to the younger generations, I am glad I am the age I am.

A HISTORY OF NEAR-CONTINUOUS WAR--

In Saturday’s feature story Fogeyisms takes a look at our history of war.

With the approach of Veteran’s Day 2008 please join us in this salute to all of our country’s veterans, and our sadness for the fact that war has played such a prominent role in our history.

The Bellville Cemetery grave marker at left is marked “Capt. Jos. Johnson, Ohio Mil(ita), War (of) 1812”.

Please rest in peace Captain Johnson.

NAVIGATING THE BLOG—

In the upper left corner of each blog item there is a search box. It works very much like your favorite web search engine.

If you would like to find a piece on a particular subject, type that subject’s name; like “Bicycling” or “Eagles” etc., in the box and click “Search Blog”. The same will work with a person’s name I have mentioned in blog articles.

You also can use the “Blog Archive” column on the right of each page to get around. The most recent blogs are listed by topic. Just click the one you want to see. You can travel to specific months in similar fashion.

To return to the most recent blog, click the top subject listed in that column.

Naturally, with your cursor on the blog page simply rotating its wheel will scroll the page up or down.

Putting your cursor on a picture should change your cursor into the live link symbol. Click the left button and the photo should appear in a larger size on your screen. Why this does not work with all pictures is beyond my ability to explain.

If you like the photo and want to save a copy to your computer, right click the enlarged image and click “Save As”. That will open a dialog box and you will have to select where you want the picture to reside on your system, then, click “Save”.

While I am not too fussy about copywrites I do request you use my photos only for your personal enjoyment.

Please enjoy the blog. I enjoy producing it and am delighted to have you as a reader.

If you are a regular reader I would enjoy knowing that too. Simply click “View My Complete Profile” under my picture on the bottom of the right column. On the “Blogger” screen that comes up select “Email” in the Contact box.

I will really enjoy hearing from you.

THE JUNCOS RETURN--

Another sign of the inexorable change of seasons occurred yesterday when several Juncos made their annual appearance at my birdfeeders.

These sparrow-sized birds left here in the spring; migrating to their breeding territory in the far north from Alaska to Newfoundland. While many of them will winter in Ohio others of their species will go south as far as the gulf states and northern Mexico.

They are uniformly gray or brownish gray on top and on the breast which then shows a sharp line of demarcation to a white abdomen. They usually show a pinkish bill and will flash white along the sides of the tail feathers in flight.

Small flocks of ten to twenty birds are not uncommon at my birdfeeders.

It's nice to see them arrive, but I will be even happier when it is time for their next departure.

IT’S THAT TIME AGAIN—

Regardless of how alert I try to keep myself to current events the change back to standard time snuck up on me this year.

I was wrestling myself awake this morning when the little clock on the face of my computer told me I should be back in bed for at least another hour. It said 4 something a.m.--a totally uncivilized time for that first cup of coffee.

I stumbled back to the bedroom to check the alarm clock and see what time it really was and discovered my timepieces were in serious disagreement.

The dispute was settled when I checked all three of the radio controlled clocks and they agreed.

It really was 4 something a.m.

After fiddling with the computer for awhile I flopped onto the couch with book in hand and soon my body was zzzz-ing itself back toward harmony with my assorted timepieces, which, of course, demanded I then wrestle with the semi-annual task of getting them all synchronized.

They included the alarm clock, range, microwave, two watches, a portable radio, the answering machine, the truck radio and the timer for the outside lights (plus the aforementioned "atomic" clocks which didn't need my attention)...

...an absolutely insane collection for a retired guy who 95 percent of the time doesn’t really care what time it is anyhow.

A BIG WALK IN THE WOODS—

It was one of those sunny, fall days when I was enjoying a severe dose of insanity that I decided to hike the combined bridle and advanced ski trail which encircles Malabar Farm for 4.5 miles.

Four and a half very hilly miles.

I should have known I was in trouble when the farm’s cartographers provided a map with north at the bottom; a violation of map publishing protocol usually avoided by even the most amateurish of that group.

Regardless, I headed up the wooded hill in a southerly, counterclockwise direction from the visitor’s center and was promptly rewarded with a sun dappled trail (above) where deer tracks were as obvious as those of horseshoes and the sounds of civilization were blessedly silenced.

I crossed a meadow high up there behind Louie’s big house and encountered two gals on horseback from Medina who stopped for a friendly chat. They were traveling the trail clockwise and I would meet them later almost exactly on the opposite side of our route.

That meant, of course, I had managed to travel at nearly the same velocity they had achieved with their mounts. They seemed proud of me; gray hair and all.

A bit after our first conversational interlude I popped into the next woods and found a dump-truck sized cairn of stones, far from any field’s edge. Curious. Could it be some farmer from ages gone by had cleared his field of these stones, and then his cultivations were overtaken by the re-growth of this forest?

Or was it, in fact, a monument to some ageless burial?

Deeper in the same woods I found a mature wild cherry tree perched on top of a huge sandstone-like rock formation. Most cherry trees with which I am familiar seem to prefer installing their roots in rich soil.

Shortly after reacquiring evidence of civilization, I crossed Bromfield Rd., and came across five horses tethered to trees. As I was making myself noisily apparent to these restless critters I noticed campers in the background.

They were a mom and pop with two teenage sons from Port Clinton enjoying a two-day, horsy campout. We shared a hearty laugh when I confessed we usually head to their area for our touristy amusements.

A ways down the trail heading through the woods east then south then east again, my reverie was destroyed by the sound of human voices. I listened intently then the innocence of their arrival was announced by a horse’s whinny—a nice young couple from Amherst; themselves enjoying some camping with their riding.

Near trailhead C far above the farm’s Sugar Shack I searched for the remnants of the Ferguson Cabin; the domicile of a colorful recluse from time gone by. I could not find the site but the last time I visited it was but a square shaped dig where the foundation once was located.

Farther east I did find the gorge of the Ferguson Falls. It must be a truly beautiful sight when water cascades the rocks and splashes the now-dry pool far below.

Heading downhill from the Sugar Maple Plantation it was a relief to my weary muscles when the trail slowly morphed into a track somewhat usable by vehicles then, finally, a gravel road of sorts as the Sugar Shack came into view.

I was relieved to be near completion of the arduous trek—totally devoid of fellow hikers—when I re-encountered civilization in the form of a guy in his trendy apparel and speeding convertible buzzing toward me on the Sugar Shack Road.

I scampered behind a nearby tree and seriously considered heading back into the woods.